


278

by kleine_aster



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Grinding, Heavy Petting, M/M, Omega Verse, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleine_aster/pseuds/kleine_aster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I wanted to try writing an Alpha!Tim and Omega!Damian fic. It turned out weird. But hey, there’s boners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	278

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** Damian is still very bossy and Tim is either very considerate or a bit of a sadist _I’m not sure_. I’m imagining a ‘verse where they’re very close in age (kinda like the New 52 but in not completely shitty) so it won’t be uber creepy. I suppose it’s still kinda creepy XD

He lets him suck on his fingers. It’s approximation, it’s appeasement, and it shouldn’t be this arousing, but somehow Damian has really taken to it. Tim tries to lie still, blood pounding in his veins as he watches him, watches him dip his fluttering tongue in the spaces between the digits before he sucks one or more of them into his mouth again. He takes them in deep, bobbing his head with an urgent, guttural moan as if they were another part of Tim’s body entirely. There’s something about the taste and smell of the older male’s skin that makes Damian abandon restraint completely, and there really is nothing that compares to seeing him without it.

 

Somehow, and Tim has yet to get to the bottom of it, this is sexier than having anybody else offer themselves to him completely naked and wanting and _available_. His fingers are covered in saliva, slick and warm from the heat of Damian’s mouth and the way he’s breathing on them. Tim has sensitive hands, and whenever he feels another hard pull from his sucking mouth, his arousal spikes in ways that make him want to rise with a scream and throw the other boy on his back.

It started out as a game, a game of make-outs, but now it’s like a train crashing through a wall without the brakes on.

"En… _nhn_ ough,” he finally manages to say. His voice his hoarse. Despite the fact that all his blood seems to have rushed into his loins by now, his cock painfully straining against his tight leather pants, there’s somehow miraculously some left to make his face bright red.

Damian obeys, and Tim’s fingers make a slick, stunning noise as they plop out of his hard-working mouth. A moment later, Tim comes face to face with his dazed, needy eyes as they glare at him. He looks out of it. His lips are so, so wet, and Tim barely dares to think about how  _wet_  he must be in other places. Damian is compliant, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t desperate.

"No. It’s not," he protests. Before Tim can tell him otherwise, he climbs onto him, and the older boy groans when he feels Damian’s weight and warmth come down on his clothed erection.

"It’s not – "

 He takes Tim’s hands and places them around his waist. His pants are riding low, not quite covering the soft swell of his ass, and Tim can’t keep his slippery fingers from appraising his flesh.

“ _Ever_  –”

Damian rolls his hips, grinding on him in clear invitation.

"Enough."

"Damian –"

He doesn’t listen. There’s a soft “Mmmm”-sound coming from his lips as he rubs his head across Tim’s naked, flushed torso, all fragrant skin and hair. It goes straight to his head, incinerating his blood until all that’s left is the desire to hold him down and take him and  _mark_  him so no-one else would ever  _dream_  of touching him, but that’s not what … not what -

Tim’s fevered mind releases a slew of curses he’d never say out loud. He bites the insides of his mouth and employs some breathing exercises, finds his center, then rises up to grab Damian’s face with both hands and distract him with a kiss on the lips. The boy responds to the kiss as if he wants to  _inhale_  him, pushing into him with his teeth and tongue. Damian is Omega, born and raised, yet you’d never know it from the fury with which he tries to assert what’s his. It’s vexing, but it makes Tim’s senses pop like lit firecrackers. When they part, their breathing is ragged and unstable and the sappy aroma of hormones in the air is suffocating, and Tim realizes that this hasn’t helped, at all.

"All right," he says firmly, anyway, using his thumb to wipe some of his own spit off the other boy’s lips. "Down."

Damian looks less than thrilled, but then he complies with a small growl, rolling onto his back next to him. His entire body is so tense with  _want_  he almost seems to be vibrating. He rubs his heated cheeks with a moan, and his rough voice sounds almost whiny when he complains, “Why don’t you  _like_ me, Drake?!”

"Ah." Tim props himself up on his elbow to look at him, ignoring the painful throbbing in his nether regions. He wants to run his fingers across Damian’s heaving stomach, but he knows if he does, the boy wouldn’t hear a word he says. "You seriously think I would be doing this," he asks earnestly, "If I didn’t  _like_ you?”

Damian turns his head to shoot him a sly look. “If you really liked me,” he growls, a challenge in his voice, “You’d do  _more_.”

"I want to," Tim replies, and his voice goes down,  _way_  down into the lower register. He sees Damian’s nostrils flare in response; it’s very cute. “But I told you. We can play, but everything else has to wait. You’re not of age -“

Damian ‘ _tt’_ s that statement. Tim sighs, and pulls him into his arms. He can feel Damian practically  _convulse_  at the touch, but then he slowly relaxes, melting into the space between Tim’s shoulder and chest as if that spot had been made for him. Tim knows that the other boy can hear his heart wildly thrumming against his ear now. Well, it doesn’t make a ton of sense to try hiding it. After all, he’s here, on a Saturday night, when he could be roaming the streets in pursuit of justice, or in pursuit of a mate he could actually have; he could be  _having_ someone. But he’s chosen this. A pair of training mats, a scattering of practice weapons, the smell of their sweat against rubber, and an exercise in sexual restraint. And Damian pressed up against him, looking that odd mix of grumpily embarrassed and grimly content to be with him that he finds really appealing for some reason.

"It’s not Father you fear, do you," the younger boy teases him. "He’s already given us permission. Besides, you’re Alpha, it’s not as if he could tell you what to do."

Tim scrunches up his nose and looks up at the ceiling to keep himself from looking at Damian’s little demon face, which would result in him sucking on it. “Fear has nothing to do with it.”

It’s true, he doesn’t fear Bruce. He respects him enough not to go against his wishes if he can avoid it, but … but he has a feeling that he’d be here even if his former mentor  _hadn’t_  tentatively approved of his interest in Damian. Bruce has been especially snarly about his son’s looming maturity and the suitors that came with it, but he seems content to let Tim spend time with him. Even if Damian pulls crap like stubbornly, purposefully neglect his meds so that Tim can pick up his scent and they can play. Bruce knows that Tim is thoughtful, and cautious, and not cruel, and he also knows that Damian has latched onto him for some unfathomable reason. It’s not even that they get along that well; but there seems to be something in both their bloodstreams that makes them gravitate toward each other whenever the need arises. At first, Tim had thought that maybe it was their closeness in age, or maybe even just the relative proximity. Now he’s slowly starting to think that maybe they’re both bonkers, or suckers for punishment … or maybe it’s simply  _chemistry_. All he knows is he really likes the way Damian shivers when he scratches the spot right beneath his belly button. Those small things have an almost hypnotic draw to him. He’s been serious or semi-serious with Omegas before (Tim prefers to be serious in all matters), but this … has no precedent.

"You must be the  _dullest_  of Alphas, Drake,” Damian complains, stretching next to him like a cat attempting to give the illusion of indifference, “Really, I am the luckiest boy in the world.”

The renewed challenge coaxes a grim smile out of him, and he rolls over to softly nuzzle the boy’s neck, then draw his tongue along the outline of his ear before pressing a kiss on his temple. Damian arches up in pleasure and stifles a moan, and Tim holds him while he shivers.

"Mm. Sure," he murmurs, nudging him with his nose, "This is what  _bored_  people act like.”

"It’s payback, isn’t it," Damian breathes, heavy tongue stumbling over the words, fingers clawing possessively at Tim’s knee, "This is for all the times I’ve treated you disrespectfully, now you’re giving it all back to me - " There’s almost an edge of sadness to it, and it makes something in Tim’s heart stir.

It’s no use to lie to him, however. “Maybe a little,” he admits, kissing the tip of his nose. “But …” His fingers ghost over a warm stripe of exposed skin along Damian’s side. “Believe it or not, I  _do_  respect you. And I, actually, I want to give you –”

_everything_

Damian’s dark face contorts painfully at that, at having that dangled in front of him. In his state, he probably can’t see it as anything but torture. And sometimes, Tim thinks it’s irrational to hold out on him. But he wants to wait, because it feels wrong to him not to. They’re still both baffled by what’s happening, and he feels as if the other boy should at least complete his eighteenth year before they throw themselves deeper into … whatever it is. Perhaps it’s a relic from the time where Tim still believed he was merely helping him out, helping him explore a couple things before he flew out the nest into a vast, confusing world of sexual options. Part of him still hangs on to the idea that this might be a  _game_ , even if another, steadily growing part of him is screaming at him that it’s  _not_  and that this boy needs to be  _his alone_  and what is he  _doing_. It’s one of the rare times where his body seems to catch up on something faster than his mind does –

In a way, he’s still expecting the son of the Bat to back out of the whole thing. And Tim would let him, if that’s what he ultimately wants; even though the idea of him going forth and getting it from someone else makes Tim experience a jolt of pure white-hot unbridled rage that’s frankly disquieting.

Not that Damian looks like he wants to back out as Tim finally rolls on top of him.

He twitches with a tense, excited grunt when the older boy slides his leg between his thighs, immediately settling on it as if he was born to ride it. His stern face grows as hard and firm as his cock has been for a while. Tim can feel its heat through the thin, worn-out training pants Damian is wearing, and even though he’s in leather, he almost thinks he feels the cozy, welcoming wetness, too.  _Haa_. But that’s not what –

"Look at you." Damian’s low, mocking voice goes to his head like a potent drug. He looks at him and sees him smirk lazily despite his arousal. He lifts a hand and traces the outline of Tim’s jaw and chin and if he’s painting a picture. "You fool. If only you could  _see_  yourself now. You are  _dying_  to have me.”

Sweat runs into Tim’s eyes as he blinks. He knows the other boy is right. He’s in shivers, inches away from whimpering, himself. His body is aching his cock is aching. His pupils are probably blown, his face feels wild and distorted, very, _very_  far from his usual composure. He’s not himself, and yet, he completely is.

He leans down, breathes another kiss on Damian’s forehead. The spot where his thick dark hair ends and his skin begins smells so good for some reason. It soothes his blood; but the little sound that Damian makes at the touch sends his pulse racing again.

"I can meditate," he says, way more scratchily than he’d intended.

"Nhn useless  _you’re_   _useless_ ,” Damian groans, but betrays his words right away when he groans  _again_  as Tim dibs his leg into him only a little. He shudders, his voice so loaded it almost seems to be dripping. “You’ll never resist me. Not for that long. It’s months until my birthday, Drake,  _months_. Weeks, days –”

”- 278,” Tim hears himself moan, before he can even think about it, “It’s two hundred and seventy eight days -“

"You -"

Damian suddenly lies still, distracted from his desperately horny state for precious seconds while he processes that.

”- counted?”

He gives the Alpha a thorough examination. “That is creepy,” he says, and then Tim is impressed by his ability to do quick math while in heat, “ _And_  accurate.”

Tim closes his eyes, tries to collect his breath. His face feels hot. “I don’t even _try_  to,” he mumbles, somewhat more sheepishly than he would’ve liked. “It just. It just  _happens._ ”

He hears a low, sultry chuckle that nearly  _slays_  him, and opens his eyes to see. The demon’s son smirks up at him. He looks sly, but deeply pleased, too. His steely blue eyes are glazed over and shining. He doesn’t say what he’s thinking. It’s not clear  _if_  he’s thinking. But the look in his eyes nearly makes Tim stammer when he opens his mouth again.

"Until then, I –"

He presses his pale hand against the heat of Damian’s stomach, and feels him relax, because he knows, in the end, Tim will find a way to meet his needs. He always does.

”- I’ll take good care of you.”

He swallows. It’s such a stunted, abridged version of what he’d like to tell him sometimes, but maybe that, like so many other things, should wait.

A low noise of approval leaves Damian’s throat. Tim detects another impatient shiver in his thighs when he pinches his leg even harder. “Fine,” he drawls. “Then _get to it_.”

The barely masked plea beneath the arrogance nearly drives him insane. Inside his pants, Tim’s ailing boner is basically quietly screaming, but he … he can always meditate.

He manages to smirk in return as he descends on him. “To your heart’s content.”

He spreads their bodies out on the sweaty mats, and for a while they forget, time and space and good sense and everything. And they finish what they’ve started, and once they’re finished, they start  _again_. And they’re still there, nails scratching, teeth biting, sighs and cries ringing out to no-one in particular, when the digital clocks on their phones flip to midnight.

277.


End file.
